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Hello All – Thank you so much for your support. I will be taking a brief break to deal with some health issues, but I promise to return soon. I’ll still be around to read my favorite blogs and leave comments, I just think I need a little time to recharge.

Angie was tired. Tired of taking the bus everyday. Tired of leaky roofs and faucets and broken floorboards that would never be fixed and secondhand, musty-smelling clothes that never felt clean, no matter how many times you washed them. But mostly, she was tired of waiting.

Her employer of almost 20 years, Mrs. Greenleaf, was waiting for her in the living room. She’d been gracious enough to add Angie to her will years ago.

“Angie, is the tea ready yet?” Mrs. Greenleaf called out.

“Almost,” Angie said with a sigh, watching, transfixed, as the green substance disappeared into the dark liquid.

There is a boy outside. I see his shadow against my wall. I shake my husband awake, allowing fear to narrate my thoughts.

He’s coming up our walk now. Did I remember to lock our doors? My husband creeps down the steps and I sit on the landing, staring at the bedroom doors of my sleeping children. The doorbell rings and I nearly leap from my skin. He’s standing under our harsh porch light. I see the bloody eye, the bruise rising from his temple.

It was clear that Bianca, the nervous patient fidgeting in the reclined chair, didn’t remember her. But Lauren, Dr. Asher to all of her patients, certainly remembered every cruel word Bianca had ever said, despite the intervening decades.

“Is it going to hurt much? No offense, but I hate coming to the dentist,” Bianca squeaked.

“It won’t hurt a bit,” Lauren said with a placid smile as she wielded the drill. She asked her assistant to shut the door.

I’ll never forget my first trip to Costa Rica. The rain forest. The lush landscape. The gorgeous tropical birds, dashes of bright color weaving through the trees. I’d been there to volunteer, to help others, but ended up falling in love with a beautiful local boy, Marco. How handsome he was – coppery skin darkened by the sun, dark curls falling into his oversized deep brown eyes. We spent that summer together, but my home city, work, responsibility, all the trappings of adulthood, called me back. I never saw him again.

I’m standing next to my husband in an ornate restaurant, surrounded by our family and closest friends. It’s our 25th wedding anniversary. My daughter, visiting from college, beams at me from her table. My husband is giving a speech about how blessed we both are to have found our perfect match. “We never do anything halfway,” he says, as our friends chuckle. I smile and nod and laugh at the appropriate parts, but I’m not really there. I’m hearing the call of the birds, feeling the balmy breeze in my hair, as Marco slips his rough hand in mine and leads me to the ocean.